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breath. Whatever the king's purpose, those two men intended to kill him if they could. Then no equivalent heiress would be needed. Alinor herself would be the sacrificial lamb. |
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Ian touched his tired horse with a spur, then had to stab the beast harder to make it move. Just as he started, he caught sight of Owain running across the field toward the herald. He almost called out to him to stop, bothered by some vague notion that his squire would say he was too tired; then he remembered the arrangements he had made when he was still capable of thought. The herald called a pause while the king's champion changed horses. Ian caught just a glimpse of a horseman riding up to Pembroke as he went around the back of the tent where the fresh destrier was tethered. He felt a single flash of amusement. That must have been either Fulk or Henry protesting. Whoever it was would receive short shrift from Pembroke. The sluggish gait and hanging head of the mount he was riding were mute evidence that Ian was not seeking any unnecessary delay. |
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His amusement evaporated when he needed to dismount so that his saddle could be shifted. Owain and Geoffrey had to help him, and if Owain had not held him upright, he would have fallen when Geoffrey ran to get him a drink. He did not protest that the wine was not watered this time. In fact, from the way it burned going down his gullet, he suspected it had been liberally laced with usquebaugh. Mounting was even more hellish, but once in the saddle, the rearing and bucking of the fresh stallion made him feel better. It was as if some of the horse's fierce energy was transmitted to him. Still, it would be a very near thing if he managed three passes against Fulk and Henry. These were not country squires trying to regain a parcel of land nor fresh young men seeking to establish themselves as jousters. |
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